We have long felt impressed, that the organization of our colleges is defective in this respect. Into many of them the student is received, after having been employed in scraping together a few Greek and Latin words and phrases; yet lamentably ignorant of the literature, structure, and even of the commonest principles of the orthography of his own tongue. Such a chair ought to be established in all our universities, and a certain degree of proficiency in the subjects embraced by it, should be a preliminary to every collegiate attainment. It would be an instructive and delightful study to trace back, as far as possible, the language of Britain to its aboriginal condition, and to follow up the changes impressed upon it, by the Celtic, Gothic, Roman, Saxon, Belgic, Danish, and Norman invaders; the investigation being accompanied with elucidative references to the literature of the different periods. The poetry, romances, and the drama would constitute inquiries of abundant interest and information. To these might be added didactic and rhetorical exercises for improving the student in the practice of writing—not merely accurately, but elegantly and perspicuously.
Such a professorship has been wisely established in the University of London; and we trust the new University of New-York will follow the good example. If we may judge, indeed, from the ungrammatical and inelegant Journal of the Convention, an attention to this subject is as much needed there as elsewhere; and were the professorship in the hands of an accomplished individual, it could not fail to improve the literary taste and execution of the community.
[1] Memoir, Correspondence, &c. Vol. IV. P. 387.
[2] Ueber die verfassung und verwaltung deutscher universitaten. Göttingen, 1801-2.
[3] Quarterly Review, Vol. XXXVI. P. 229.
Art. II.—The Life and Times of His Late Majesty, George the Fourth: with Anecdotes of distinguished Persons of the last fifty years. By the Rev. George Croly, A. M. London: 1830.
C'est un métier que de faire un livre comme de faire une pendule—it is a trade to make a book just as much as to make a watch—is a remark which was never better exemplified, than by the manner in which the craftsmen of the book-making trade in London, have compressed the Life of His Late Most Sacred Majesty, within the two covers of a volume. That exalted personage may have descended to the tomb unwept and unhonoured, in reality, however numerous the tears shed upon his bier, or gorgeous the ceremonies attending his interment; but he certainly has not gone down to it unsung, as the above work is only one of several, if we are not much mistaken, in which his requiem has been chanted with becoming loyalty. We have seen none of its fellows, though the advertisement of them has met our eye. Judging, however, from the reputation of its author, there is not much literary boldness in pronouncing it the best which has appeared about its kingly subject.
Mr. Croly is well known as a candidate of considerable pretensions, as well for the honours of Parnassus, as for those which an elevated seat on the prosaic mount, whatever may be its name, can confer. But, in concocting this last production, it is beyond doubt, that the main object he had in view, was one of a more substantial kind than a mere increase of fame. "The Life, &c." is, in fact, a bookseller's job, executed, we allow, by a man of genius. There are evident marks about it of hasty and careless composition,—of a desire to make a book of a certain number of pages, with as little trouble and delay as possible. The style is often deficient in purity and correctness, and overloaded with glittering tropes and ornaments, not always in good taste; the arrangement wants consecutiveness and perspicuity; and attention is sometimes bestowed upon topics comparatively unimportant, to the detriment of such as are of more moment. But it is, on the whole, a work of undeniable talent, containing much powerful writing, richness and beauty of diction, graphic delineation of character, interesting information, and amusing anecdote. Some of the author's sentiments are obnoxious to censure, and we shall venture to disagree with him, occasionally, as we proceed.
It was on the 8th of September, 1761, that His Majesty, George the Third, espoused Sophia Charlotte, daughter of the Duke of Mecklenburg Strelitz; and, on the twelfth of August, in the following year, she presented him with a son and heir, to his own great delight, and the universal joy of the British empire. Ineffable as is the contempt which is expressed at the present day, for the superstitious trust reposed in omens by the heathen ancients, yet nothing of any consequence occurs, without being attended by signs in which the Christian multitude discern either fortunate or disastrous predictions. It has thus been carefully recorded and handed down, that the birth of the royal infant happened on the anniversary of the Hanover accession, and that the same day was rendered trebly auspicious, by the arrival at London of wagons containing an immense quantity of treasure, the fruits of the capture of a Spanish galleon off Cape St. Vincent, by three English frigates. A few days after his appearance in this world, His Royal Highness was created Prince of Wales, by patent, and would have been completely crushed under the load of honours that devolved upon him, had their weight been of a kind to be physically felt; Duke of Cornwall, hereditary Steward of Scotland, Duke of Rothsay, Earl of Carrick, and Baron of Rothsay, were his other titles,—being those to which the eldest son of the British throne is born. There is no harm in this, perhaps, as things are constituted in England, but we have never been able to think of one of the titles to which the second son is heir, without feeling an inclination to smile;—the Duke of York is Bishop of Osnaburgh;—nothing more ridiculous than this, can be discovered even amid the nonsense that is inseparable from regal institutions;—born a bishop!